The Israel Episode

Welcome to the OMFG podcast, Jewish wisdom for unprecedented times. My name is still Rabbi Jen Gubitz, and together with my friend and co-conspirator Rabbi Jodi Gordon, we're so glad you're with us.

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Sometimes, especially if those times are any time in the last few years or a few weeks, the world just gives you opportunity after opportunity to say, "OMFG." The world is the world, and the world is a little broken right now.

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Jen, what a time. I feel like the only way to really begin this episode is by acknowledging how many times you and I have said to each other, we should record soon over these last 6 or 7 weeks, and then found ourselves just completely stuck in place as the atrocities of October 7th continue to unfold along with a full-blown war in Gaza.

It was so hard. It was like being paralyzed. It actually reminded me of March 2020, sort of that sense of disbelief, fear, isolation, grief. And it was like doubly hard to carry on with whatever day-to-day life we'd already planned while managing personal and global grief about the attacks on Israel. And I literally didn't know what to say day to day. My birthday came a few days later. Was I allowed to have a birthday? Were we allowed to laugh? And I think a question that we both pondered is why we were speechless and without words.

I think, you know, I looked back last night, um, this, you know, there's something sort of incredibly narcissistic about what I'm about to tell you, but last night I looked back on my own Instagram stories. You know, you can like look through your archive to see what I had said on October 7th. And I had posted an article that said something like, you know, Hamas suspected to have kidnapped up to 22 people or something like that. And I wrote whatever sort of note I had written to it like that, as the horror was still beyond my, my comprehension. And so I think part of the like not having words is that it actually has gotten worse every day for the last 43, 44 days, however long it's been since then. Right. Like with every day that we've had new information, as the numbers grew, as firsthand accounts and forensics have come out about that attack, you know, it's— it— our imagination has been stretched maybe beyond words.

I think about the morning of October 7th. I was teaching Torah study and my parents actually were in town. They had come to Shabbat services last night. They're very good at coming to any Jewish thing that I do. Um, and sitting through it happily. And I mentioned in the morning I had planned to teach something. I don't remember what it was about. And I said, oh, well, you know, I'm still going to teach this thing. Oh, I was going to teach about how the Amidah changes, um, the central prayer changes around Sukkot and Passover, around, uh, water and dew and rain and dew. And, and I said, you know, there were attacks in Israel. And a lot of people didn't know what I was talking about because they don't like check social media or the news every waking second. Um, and I said, we're not sure what it is yet, but it's unfolding. And then like it unfolded throughout the day and we were supposed to go out to dinner that night for my birthday. And with Matan having so much family in Israel, it just became a day not unlike the day of Colleyville when Rabbi Charlie Citron-Walker was held hostage where, um, We just were eyes peeled to CNN and, um, couldn't figure out what to do or what to say as it continued to unfold. And it's day 45, actually.

Wow. You know, and I think we're probably going to use this word a lot in different ways over the course of this episode, but the way you're describing your experience of October 7th, the way that I remember that day, right? It was like this real experience of sitting vigil. And I think about that word vigilance, right? Of like, of being vigilant. And I think part of what has been so sort of like consuming and exhausting and leaving us without words about this is that, you know, like the human, the human body is not intended to, to be vigilant like this for this long uninterrupted without consequence. And so, you know, that sense of sitting vigil, like I, and I remember texting with you on October 7th and those decisions of like, what are we doing today? What aren't we doing today? And the one thing that I do sort of hold on to as a thread from sort of the beginning of this until now even is at some— somehow at every step along the way, I've had this sense of like, it could still be worse. Like, I've never declaring— I've never feeling like we could declare like, this is as bad as it will be, or like, this is the moment we can now sort of act from. Because it hasn't remained static. It hasn't gotten better. And, you know, and like the news has only sort of, um, gone deeper and darker, I think.

Yeah, holding vigil or being vigilant— our nervous systems, you know, aren't meant for this. And I think this sort of confirms some of our darkest fears that some of us have had and have been keeping vigilance over for years. Generations, for decades. And so I think that, yeah, what does it mean to be vigilant and hold a vigil and also to take care of ourselves in these moments? And I think that that's actually the extremes that we're living in, right? So we, um, we wondered together, like, why did we feel not ready to record? Um, and so one way to ask that again is, like, why is it so hard to talk about Israel right now? And part of that is because we're living in this world of extremes or of dualities. And I came across a survey by M Squared, which is a really fabulous Jewish educational and leadership training institution that they were doing with the Jewish Education Project to try to really understand the experience of Jewish professionals in particular, but the Jewish world in this moment. And they had a whole list of dualities, this idea that we're holding opposites and extremes all the time at the same time. And so we're going to explore those dualities today, a couple of them, just two. And so that first duality is the one of solidarity and fragmentation.

And we've seen this, I think, happen. My experience of it is like, it's like watching it happen outside of myself. By and large, like, through the lens of media, whether social media or mainstream news, right, all of that. And then actually experiencing it in real time, like, in community, in, um, you know, walking down the street of Great Barrington near the synagogue where I, you know, where I serve, and, and all of those things, right? So on the one hand, this extreme sense of solidarity, and on the other hand, these excruciating moments of real fragmentation, and of— and I would even add alienation as maybe like a subcategory of fragmentation. But, you know, you know, Jen, you mentioned Matan's family and I've started to feel like as a, like, not a disclaimer, but I can't think of a better word for it right now. Like, it feels like I want a sign that says, like, before you talk to me about Israel, please know that my family is there. Like, please know, right, that at this moment my nephew is in a tank in Gaza and has been there for 3 weeks. Right, that there is this experience of, you know, how close or far we feel from the experience, not just refracted through the news and through infographics and social media posts, but in real time what we're hearing from our loved ones. So maybe as a way of being gentle to ourselves and inviting our listeners in for a moment of hope, we'll start with that solidarity. Because I think in the past 6 weeks, the moments that I have felt a sense of solidarity have been some of the, the sort of strongest moments of Jewish peoplehood that I can remember in my whole lifetime. Um, I don't know about you, but I've heard a lot of folks who are older than us refer back to the movement to free Soviet Jewry lately, right? And I, I personally remember being in maybe 3rd or 4th grade and doing a march for Soviet Jewry on Long Island to help raise money, you know, with my synagogue And I was young enough that I didn't understand what the word Jewry meant. So I thought we were walking for jewelry. That was confusing. I, you know, I've since learned. But, you know, we've, we've both participated in and helped to lead various vigils and community gatherings. And I feel fortunate that I was able to be in Washington, D.C. last week for the March for Israel on the National Mall. And there is something about the potential for peoplehood in this moment that I think is really interesting. What have you been experiencing where you are?

So definitely the first Shabbat after October 7th, tons of people showed up to shul, which I think is, is good that people still wanted to show up to Jewish spaces because you can imagine wanting to just hide and, and disappear out of fear and out of concern for your safety. And we actually, we gathered and we sang— what's the song from Eurovision? Hallelujah. And it felt really sweet. It felt really sweet and surprising how familiar it was to so many people and Hebrew and English. I might be conflating Shabbats, but that's one of my moments of gathering that's felt really important. Another time, um, and I'll talk about this more in a bit, is around like having people sing Hatikvah together and knowing that from a parent that a lot of our families didn't feel that they knew it, or he didn't know it, and could we teach it. And so I went down a rabbit hole of like researching the origins of Hatikvah that I also didn't know. And so then singing that together with having people have a sense of what they were singing and why they were singing it and acknowledging the complexities of, of the song. We also went to the big gathering in Boston, and that felt important. There were people there wrapped in Israeli flags. There were government speakers, some of whom got booed because they were saying things that no one was ready for and still probably wouldn't be. And there was solidarity even in that, like, no, Ed Markey, you got it wrong. And then afterwards, we all ended up at this— there happens to be an Israeli babka place. Of course. Right across the street. I know, from the Common. And like, we had gone a little bit earlier. We were actually sitting with our rabbi from TBZ, Temple Beth Zion, Rav Claudia. And we like, like, waiting in line for babka and, you know, tay im nana was like very much full of community strength. And I just was like, okay, we're in the right place. I don't love going to protest. I feel worried for my safety in large gatherings, also concerts. And so I was glad that we went and I was glad that we could also like gather for own egg for joy afterwards.

You know, that first Shabbat of, you know, that first Shabbat of the, of the war, something that I said after leading that service was that I don't think I will ever forget that service for the rest of my life. And like the experience of what it felt like to stand on a bima and, and be one of the people, right, holding this moment for what for us was also like a remarkably large and emotional crowd of people for the Friday night immediately following Simchat Torah. Because as a quick disclaimer, which is the other thing about this, is like we have extended the marathon of the Jewish people, right? That like this attack came on Simchat Torah, which was a time that many of us anticipate anticipated as the grand finale to an intensive time of work and gathering coming out of the High Holidays. And so for one week later on that first Shabbat to see an even bigger crowd, right, coming together knowing that the only place they wanted to be was with other Jews in a sacred space was really remarkable. And what I've said about that Shabbat is I think I will never forget it, and I hope to never in the rest of my rabbinic service like that one again. You know, that feeling of like when you are in a space with people and, you know, you can feel alongside of them. I mean, that is what empathy is, right? Or compassion. Look at me getting them confused, right? But the ability to stand in a room with a couple hundred other people and say, right, there's like this literal shared emotion, the shared feeling in our body right now, and singing and sitting together in silence. Is one way to, you know, at least pet our nervous system and say, I hope you recover soon, you know. And the— and then very differently, I would say almost as like a— not a bookend because it's not over yet, but the thing that I found so remarkable about the March for Israel was actually the, um— and I've called it, you know, I've, I've talked about it and written about it as like a— there was a sense of peoplehood and shared purpose, but But if I'm going to be really specific about it, like the, the image for me that stands out for the March for Israel is that there I was that day. I happened to have had a Bring Them Home Now t-shirt that was given to me by someone from the Hostages and Missing Families Forum. And I was wearing a kippah, as I do when I'm ever in Jewish spaces or leadership spaces like that. And on the Metro home, I got into a very crowded train car filled with day school students from Hafter, which is an Orthodox day school on Long Island that I'm familiar with. And in almost any other time and space and setting, I would have felt differently aware of my presence as a Reform Jewish woman wearing a kippah amidst a crowd of, by and large, like Orthodox men. But throughout the day, there was this sense of like, I'm glad you're here. I want you here as much as you want me here, because we want this crowd big. Like, that's like the simplest way that I can really explain it. You know, we— where I stood at the march, We were next to a gated-off area that had been reserved for yeshivas, presumably so that they would not have to stand like in a mixed crowd without the presence of a mechitza, you know, some sort of barrier separating by gender. And, and these, these young men from this yeshiva, they were fascinating to watch during the rally because they applauded for things and sang along with things and joined in for moments that I found surprising in the most heartening way possible. Um, so, you know, I think that when we— if, if when we sort of distill this moment to its core, there is this, um, I think heightened sense of peoplehood even across major, major, major gaps of ideological and religious and political difference.

Yeah, I love— it's so interesting to me that you felt that because I feel I both see that and I— we went to a sort of a almost like a Shiva gathering at TBZ, and I realized for the very first time I heard the prayer, which you seem to have known before, but I— did you know?

I learned it, I learned it when our, when our Berkshire community planned our vigil for Israel that first week of the war. Um, my conservative colleague Rabbi David Weiner introduced it to me, and then I, I found various recordings of it and have acquainted myself with it, and I think it's beautiful and I love it, but I didn't know it before the October 7th war began.

So I feel like I got like an upgrade in peoplehood in terms of prayer and liturgy just by being in a, you know, because we go to a synagogue. I work in a Reform synagogue and doing modern Jewish couples, but we go to a synagogue that's, they would say unaffiliated, but I think leans towards like conservative Jewish practice, at least ritually. And so I feel like I got a little bit of a level up on peoplehood in terms of like shared language and shared liturgy. And I've also felt like in these peoplehood spaces there's been a lot of fragmentation for sure, right? Whether it's like your family itself, or I know that the critique of the march, of the fact that no women were allowed to sing and the only spiritual leader was not a rabbi, was like highly offensive.

Selection, right? I mean, this whole thing of like, you know, misery makes for strange bedfellows is, you know, for me, the shorthand way that, that, that the sort of Jewish community at large, if you can even say such a sentence, has made their peace with it. But you're absolutely right, there was plenty of fragmentation. I think what's interesting is the way that people like were willing to stand in it though, where in other times they might have walked away from it or just simply not shown up.

I still feel like, um, I joined this group called Jewish Lives Matter, which has thousands of people in it, because I just wanted to see what happened. And it's been terrible. It's been super fragmented. And a lot of people— I feel like there's a lot of people accusing one another of being Zionist enough, or, you know, did you get your sign up fast enough? And so it's interesting where there are, there are ways that we're willing to gather and be in the same space. And yet there's still this like ickiness sometimes that doesn't feel holy and feels like when we behave that way, we're letting, we're letting violence and terror win. Um, so on one hand, I'm like really glad that you had that experience at the march where it felt like people were willing to get in, be in it together. Despite their differences, because I'm still seeing so much fragmentation.

Well, so let's talk about the fragmentation, right? Because OMG, OMG, we are not Pollyannas, even though sometimes it would feel more comfortable to be. So let's talk about the fragmentation. And you've had some really, I think, powerful examples of it.

Yeah. I, you know, in listening, the fragmentation of this idea, you know, that many people are feeling it in their bodies. I see memes of like Uh, I'm— I am— it's 70 CE again with the destruction of the temple. Or one friend telling me her body is in Kishinev, this the place of tragic pogroms, attacks on Jewish people in the early 20th century. And then people who I'm related to, just not even distantly, people I'm related to posting things like, from the river to the sea. And so like holding both of those like familial and friendship relationships with very different relationships to this experience right now that we're going through. I also fragmentation, you know, we live a pretty, we're, you know, New Englanders, pretty liberal progressive life, proudly stand with Black Lives Matter and with queer people and trans people. And it's been really hard to find out that in fact Jews don't totally make it into the collective in that way, and that some people see us as colonial white settlers. That's really painful. I'm just— I'm uncomfortable with the Jewish Voice for Peace voice and the clergy in that space. So yeah, I'm struggling a lot.

Yeah, you know, the, the solidarity— like, the piece where where many of us, like not just you and me, right, but like, you know, Jews around the world, across the country, have looked to places where they have found solidarity in the past and where they have offered solidarity in the past and now are experiencing this like deep sense of alienation, to me is really interesting because what we get accused of, right, is that it's a quid pro quo, right? That like we only, you know, marched for Black Lives Matter because we expect expected, you know, total allyship without question in return, which like, of course, isn't true. Like, of course, that's not how we feel, right? But that there has been a, a real conflation of like, where, where is a conversation, um, political and where is it about relationship? And so, you know, we've had the same experience here in the Berkshires where, look, I don't need everyone to be a Zionist, right? And we can talk about that term Zionism later because I love talking that. But, right, you can have any number of, of opinions about what's happening there right now. However, right, if like, if the brutal rape, torture, and murder of over 1,300 Jews in one day is, is not worth mentioning to you, right, or is somehow like there's some other context that you think excuses or explains it, like, wow, like then I don't, then I don't feel human in your eyes. And where Where could this partnership ever possibly go again in the future? And, you know, we've had that experience here in the Berkshires with some other community leaders, and it's been really painful because it's not a quid pro quo at all. Right? We don't have to march for each other, but we do have to care about each other's humanity. And that has felt like a not always true experience recently.

Yeah. I was just thinking about the areas for trying to move through fragmentation, right? So showing up to a march, showing up to shul, showing up in community with people who are very different from you. And for me, the only thing I can do, I feel like, that feels like it will get to where I want us all to be is to continue to be curious. And want to learn. And so, you know, if I just assume that I'm right and that we're right and that everything I've been taught is the way it is, I'm not sure that that's going to get us to any world in which we actually feel that our humanity is bound up with one another. And so I teach a little bit in this project called the Jewish Learning Collaborative, which actually is one-on-one learning with people who work in Jewish organizations, and I work with, um, a young adult, and we're probably 15 years apart, maybe not quite, but, you know, really different generations at this point, which is hard to say out loud. Um, but we've been studying together for almost 2 years, almost 2 years. And so I said to her, and she told me that she, her world in Brooklyn is mostly with people who actually would identify as anti-Zionist. Um, or, which was hard for me, and I was like, can you tell me more about that? I want to understand. I want to understand. And we actually sat, we made a Venn diagram of the things that we do believe in, and, um, and we had a really, I think, good conversation, which only was possible because we've been in relationship and decided to put relationship first. Um, and I suspect there was also a power dynamic, which is that I'm being paid to teach her. So I think that also changed, you know, how I— how quickly I responded, or how snappy I was, or how, um, openly reflective I was, because I was trying to also maintain my professional role. But I do feel like we didn't end up agreeing, but we did realize that we were— we were using similar terms differently.

Well, an interesting I mean, what's interesting about that though is, is in the end, do either of you want something terribly different from one another, right? Like, right, like that's, that has been my experience of those hard conversations. And right, and I can think of like 3 examples of them that I've had, right? I have a cousin, I have an old friend, and I have a member of my, of my synagogue community. 3 people actually who across the board I really adore and respect and admire. And think of as people who I'm like, I am interested in what you have to put into the world, who in varying degrees have very different points of view than from mine, right? But have each over the course of the last 6 weeks given me the opportunity to engage or asked me to engage and gone back and forth with me. And the thing that I always find so fascinating about these harder conversations is that when you're in relationship, when you care about the person, for sure it makes you more open to hearing what they have to say. It also, I think, um, for most people, probably makes you more thoughtful about how you say what you have to say, right? In both directions. And at the end of the day, right, like, when you drill down to the, to the real difference, you're like, yeah, I would like nobody to suffer. I would like no one to be unsafe in their home. I would like everyone who lives on that tiny strip of land sitting at the edge of a continent to live like peaceful, meaningful lives where they get to grow to old age in happiness and in good health. And we maybe see different paths to getting there, and that's— and like, and that's where it gets so hard. And that's right, that's not— yeah, that doesn't give us an answer. But you know, you said something about, um, remaining curious, which to me feels like a, a really lovely segue to the other dynamic that we were both drawn to from that list from M Squared which is the sort of the dichotomy or the range between doubt and conviction. Like, when do we feel really strong and solid and unmovable in our convictions? And when does doubt creep in, maybe as actually a positive force? You know, I've sort of thought about this in this way that of like, we need doubt because doubt makes us test our convictions, right? Doubt is what creeps in to say like, well, am I sure? Like, am I— do I really believe this thing that I have felt I really believe for all this time? And sometimes yes and sometimes no. So let's talk about doubt.

So one thing I think that is a background noise to doubt in our world is also just that we've been in the last, I don't know, 8 to 10 years in America, news and science, um, have all been degraded by the former president of what is true, what is real. And so I think that like, as a pretty educated person, I, I think that I feel less confident about what is true because of sort of the broader context in which we live. And so doubt for me, I would be getting a lot of questions from congregants and I, and I, would want to think about what do I need to say in this moment. And I would read an article, let's say, and I would think it was fabulous, the New York Times or the Atlantic. But then the next day I'd read another article in the New York Times that I didn't like, and another one in the Atlantic. And then I would look at the comments on Instagram or on social media and see that like this article I loved on the Atlantic, like the comments were just taking down the writer and the Atlantic entirely. For being politically biased. Um, and so I would think to myself, well, do I have it wrong, or do I really know what I think I know? Was I ever taught this? Um, and so I went down a rabbit hole, a lot of rabbit holes, um, in, in the past few weeks to think, like, was I ever really taught about Zionism? How much do I actually know about it? And so the answer is yes, I was. And thank you, Professor Dave Mendelson. Of the Hebrew Union College of Jerusalem, and Paul Lips, and many other fabulous professors there. I went through my files from my year in Israel, um, 2007 to 2008, solid 15 years ago, and I found that I did study Zionism quite closely in rabbinical school. I also have a Jewish studies degree from undergrad. I wrote a 22-page paper on the history of Reform Zionism Sorry, Dave Mendelsohn, that I wrote something that long that you had to read. And I'm glad that I could read it 15 years later to see what I had learned. You know, when that parent asked me about Hatikvah and I realized that once again, despite literally having lived in Israel, being married to an Israeli, that I didn't know the origins of it, I stayed up till 1:00 AM writing a story that I felt would be good enough for kids, but also useful for adults. And so really with the doubt, it's not that I was like, yes, I'm right, but it was more a sense of confidence around, yes, I have studied and learned and been taught more than I might remember or more than I might give myself credit for. And that at least gave me confidence that I can have convictions, that I'm not just making things up and drawing, you know, a rabbit out of a hat.

Well, what's interesting about that is, you know, we're living through this um, you know, just in the past few days, like a real, um, surge of, you know, trying to take down basically like all of Gen Z for, you know, learning what they know on TikTok. And, and here's, here's the thing. Now listen, I personally disagree with much of the rhetoric around Israel and Gaza that, that happens to be taking place on TikTok, and I don't think it's useful to dismiss an entire generation of people for how they learn. But what it does say to me is, and, and this is, you know, sort of next to what you're saying, is I think that there's a humility in saying to yourself, like, what do I know? What have I experienced personally? Where do I know this information from? Do I stand by that as like a reliable and honorable source? And when the answer is yes, actually, I find Like, it helps me speak from a place of responsibility, right? Like, I feel like I have had better media hygiene in the past 6 weeks than probably I've had. Because I'm, you know, I'm thinking like, before I'm going to share something, before I'm going to put up this beautiful article that really moved me, I'm going to look up more about the author and I'm going to try to understand where they're coming from and where their expertise, experience, or knowledge is based. And I think that, you know, like, that's what's lacking, right? That, um, you know, the critique of all of these, like, all of a sudden, you know, experts in Middle East geopolitics is like, where is this information coming from? How do you know this? How do you know to trust that source? Have you personally experienced this? Like, did you read a screenshot of something with no— right, with like, you know, no sense of where it came from and decide like that's a fact? And I think you're right to say, you know, certainly in our country that the last 8 years has really degraded our ability to know what's true and what's not in the news.

I don't know what I'm going to do when, you know, when people come after me for getting my medical degree on Grey's Anatomy.

But, you know, the question of doubt and sort of like when we're either consuming new information or in our particular professional roles trying to share information, you know, I think is important. And so, uh, you know, you have doubt on the one hand and you have conviction on the other. And I know you were just spending time with, with your, your Israeli mahatunim, with your, your family across the pond, and I wonder, did that, did that push your conviction any deeper.

So first of all, yeah, hi everyone. I just got off a plane from London this morning, or 2 hours ago, 3 hours ago, I don't know. So hopefully this all makes sense when we listen to it later. But, um, we were actually in London for a family bar mitzvah on Matan's side, his first cousin's son, and I had the opportunity to give a sermon on Shabbat morning, which I hope brought some relief to my colleagues at Finchley Reform Synagogue. Which is a wonderful, wonderful place. And the main thing that I felt like I could have conviction around was the story of Matan's family. Um, and you know, Matan exists very much so because of Zionism. His grandma and grandpa made Aliyah from Vienna and Berlin, um, when they were young because they were part of youth movements. And it was just about pre-war, pre-Holocaust where they were growing up. And so they moved to Israel, they met, and they built a kibbutz together with other, um, young adults called Kibbutz Geshur. And I was reflecting on that story, which is really one that I married into, right? So it's still a really new story for me. Um, and the story goes that Sabayona, um, it was 1948 and Israel was declared a state. And the Iraqi troops were among the many troops approaching the borders of Israel. Um, and as they were approaching, Sabayona threw dynamite to blow up bridges to protect the kibbutz. And so that's been like, that's like a real founders of Israel sort of.

Yeah. Like a foundational tale.

Foundational tale. It made it into the New York Times actually. In the past couple of years. And this summer they were talking about how if Sabayona was going to be like 105, something like that. And this is in reference to the issues of the right-wing government that we were dealing with and protesting. Um, and someone in our family, uh, WhatsApp group said Sabayona would be so sad to see Israel right now. And when I finished sharing my Dvar Torah, the rabbi and eventually Miriam Berger sort of summed it up with, certainly this isn't what Sabayonah fought for. And so I don't know, you know, I never knew Sabayonah, but I have conviction that it is possible still to fight for an Israel that Sabayonah would have been proud of. I was speaking more about our resilience in this moment. And I also think he, as someone who made Aliyah at a young age, would have had a lot to teach us about how to stay strong and resolute in times of change and disruption. Yeah.

You know, the— in some ways, this— the last 7 weeks have been, you know, like a real distilling process, right, of like, what sentences can you say are true for yourself? What things can you say, right, this is my bottom line? And I think that's where conviction comes out of. And I feel coming out of the march last week, You know, the March for Israel centered itself around 3 main points, and that was what all of these organizations that were able to opt in were able to hold on to, right? Like the core that everyone there supposedly was able to grasp onto together was 1, Israel's right to exist, 2, the importance of broad coalitions of people speaking out against antisemitism in our own country, which we've like only sort of, you know, referenced in this episode, but as, you know, a whole other part of what's been going on. And then third, the release of the hostages. So it's like, what do I know is true in this moment? I believe Israel has the right to exist. Full sentence. I believe antisemitism around the world and certainly here in our country is dangerous and that we need many, many, many partners and allies speaking out against it. And I believe that those hostages need to be home yesterday, right? That feels clear to me.

Yeah, I was thinking about, you know, an old colleague, Abby Greenberg, own, like, her family. Some of them, they have found their bodies and they are no longer alive on this planet, but she has still has family that are held hostage in Gaza. And the thought of those families, you know, I was reading a piece of a mom that said like she's ready to just go to Gaza herself. Absolutely. She's like, I'll bring chocolate milk because my kids like chocolate milk and some shoes for running. And so I feel that strength of conviction too of releasing hostages. It's such a value in Jewish tradition. Um, I also want to say though that with the rise of antisemitism, I— we also can't have a rise of Islamophobia. Oh, absolutely right. And I think that that is, um, as, as American Jews, we also have to stand strong and to say that any xenophobia for any, um, type of person that is not like everyone else or perceived that way is also unacceptable. And I'm not sure that antisemitism can disappear so long as there are other forms of xenophobia in the world.

No, I think that's true. I mean, it is the world's oldest hatred, but we seem to have collected, uh, other forms along with it along the way. You know, Jen, you and I got to be at a bar mitzvah together a few weeks ago. And, um, you know, on— at that Friday night service, someone said the sentence that really— it stuck in my head. And I don't think that they even said it as like the main thing that they were saying, but they said, when Israel is in danger, Jews around the world are in danger. And it was a sentence that maybe I've heard before and it hasn't landed, but it— like, to me as a conviction, like, that feels really true. Right? Like, Israel is in danger right now, and that makes Jews around the world less safe. And the last thing I would say in terms of like what feels like conviction for me right now, and it feels like a, you know, more of an act of bravery to say it in public spaces than it should, right, is that like, I'm a Zionist, right? And I believe in Israel's right to exist. And someone asked me recently, like, so what definition are you using? Right? Like, what do you mean by Zionist? And, and I think it's an important question. We know how language gets co-opted. But for me, there's this one definition that Herzl actually wrote about in one of his earliest writings where he calls— he describes Zionism as an aspiration to moral and spiritual perfection. And when I remember the Israel of October 6th, and I think about this past year of the incredible rise of the protest movement, I think we were on that path, right? The protest movement actually gave me great hope that we were sort of on a path to some kind of awakening toward a modern democratic state that would be aspiring to more moral and spiritual perfection. So, you know, for me, when I think about the fragmentation, I, I almost feel like it's like I need to cross-stitch those Five Truths, right, on like a little thing to say like this is what I have to hold on to. And there's lots of room for conversation and curiosity around it, but for me, those things remain true.

And as the sort of the guiding force through this terrible, terrible time, it's so interesting how hesitance around identifying as a Zionist previously, um, which I share with— I've shared with you, um, and now the desire to really say like, no, like, I'm gonna wear it on my shirt.

Yeah.

Right. That's— I wanna, um, that's my team. That's my team. Um, so I share those convictions with you a lot in so many ways and appreciate your articulation of them. This is going to be a long journey though, of continued solidarity and fragmentation, of doubt and conviction, where we have to explore continually what it means to be right and just. And I think one thing we actually haven't said is that we also do deeply care for the innocent civilians in Gaza who are caught in this mess as well. Um, because I think that's also what it means to be right and just is to say truths, even if they don't always align with one another. Um, and I also think we have to figure out how to catch the glimmers of hope and light when they come our way. Or create them ourselves.

So we are going to leave you all, our dear listeners, with a poem, as is our custom here at OMFG. And it's a poem written by the late Israeli poet Yehuda Amichai, and it's called "The Place Where We Are Right." From the place where we are right, flowers will never grow in the spring. The place where we are right is hard and trampled like a yard.

But doubts and loves dig up the world like a mole, a plow, and the whisper will be heard in the place where the ruined house once stood. So we wish you a happy Thanksgiving and some rest and some glimmers of hope and light in this month of Kislev, leading us through And we're glad to be back with you. And OMFG, let's pray for better times.

This episode of the OMFG podcast was brought to you by rabbis Jen Gubitz and Jodi Gordon, editing by Jesse Ulrich, and snark straight from Adonai.